Page 27 of The Last Inch Of Ice
“Don’t you want to ask yourself that question?” Nazar shoots back. “We’re both not supposed to be here. We’re not allowed at this party.”
“I’m wearing a mask, Rykov. You look like you. And you’re dragging me around like we’re in some action movie.”
“Everyone already knows you’re here.” Nazar doesn’t even know where that’s coming from. It’s not true. The press killed the story, but he can’t tell Callahan about Oksana’s call without explaining things he’s not ready to explain.
“What? No. No, what are you talking about?” Callahan’s voice spikes. “Did you tell someone? Rykov, did you fucking tell—”
“No.” Nazar’s grip tightens, thumbs pressing into the hollows above Kai’s collarbone, feeling the pulse there. “But keep this up, and they’ll know it’s you.”
“Warning me now? How noble.” Kai grabs Nazar’s shirt, fingers twisting the fabric, knuckles grazing his chest, sending a jolt through him. “If you drag me somewhere again, I’ll punch you.”
“Then do it.”
“Shut up,” Callahan hisses. “I swear to God, just shut up.”
The thing is, Nazar has never had a problem with silence. He lives in it. But right now, if he doesn’t speak, if he doesn’t find out what Callahan was doing with that group, if he doesn’t understand what he saw in that man’s expression, he’s going to explode.
“Tomorrow at eight a.m. for the mandatory pre-match routine,” Nazar says. “You rolling in from the orgy?”
Callahan punches him in the shoulder. Hard.
Nazar catches the next swing, hooks his leg behind Kai’s—testing. Kai kicks back, snarling. But Nazar’s faster. Grabs both wrists, slams them overhead against the brick. The mask falls away.
His body surges forward, thigh slotting between Kai’s, chests crushed together. Close enough that he can feel Kai’s heart pounding.
Nazar’s cock hardens, straining against denim, pressing into Kai’s hip.
They’re panting, Kai’s lips parted, flushed, the scar on his cheek catching the dim light. Nazar’s gaze traces it, then drops to the pulse leaping in the pale column of his throat, the faint sheen of sweat there. He wants to taste it.
“You’re still convinced I didn’t deserve the top five in the draft, right?” Callahan’s voice is low, dangerous. “That I took your spot. Come on, just say it to my face.”
“Yeah. I figured it out—your dad’s dirty hands all over it. Shove his kid in, screw the rest of us.” He grits the words out. “Stick Callahan anywhere you want. Push everyone else off the board.”
“Don’t you fucking dare think you know my father,” he chokes, his voice scratching Nazar’s nerves raw. “He would never have pushed me into hockey. He hates it. He hates that I play. But think whatever helps you sleep, you idiot. Just shut up. Shut up, shut up—”
Nazar doesn’t let him finish.
He crashes his mouth down, hard, hungry, lips bruising against Kai’s, while squeezing his wrists tighter against the wall. Callahan doesn’t fight it. Doesn’t pull away. He lets Nazar take control of his mouth, and Nazar takes it deeper, pressing harder, even though there’s nowhere left to press.
For one breath. Two.
Then Nazar breaks away, gasping.
He releases Kai’s wrists. This time, Kai kisses him back, hands moving to Nazar’s face, fingers digging in slightly.
Nazar bites his lower lip and pulls him closer.
Kai arches, just enough, a soft gasp escaping into his mouth. His hand slides lower, grazing the edge of Kai’s belt, thumb brushing bare skin where the shirt rides up. The contact burns—Kai’s skin hot, smooth, trembling under his touch. His cock is hard now, aching against his jeans, threatening to explode.
Kai’s tongue slides over his own, uncertain at first, then more confident. But Nazar loses control. The kiss becomes rough, desperate, consuming. He can’t stop. His cock throbs, painfully hard, grinding slow against Kai, each roll sending sparks up his spine.
“Damn it, stop.” Callahan pulls back abruptly, his breathing ragged. The mask slides back into place. “Fuck. You’re not wearing a mask and there are dozens of people out there.”
Nazar tries to lean back in, but Callahan puts a hand on his chest, holding him at a distance.
“There’s a way,” he says, his voice low. “The back of the club—there are external staircases. Private rooms.”
Nazar’s throat is dry. He nods.
